


Hallow’s Adventures In Murder

by succculent_horror (Voyaelm)



Category: Boyfriend to Death (Visual Novels)
Genre: Blood, Blowjobs, Body Horror, Captivity, Dolls, Drugs, Dubious Consent, Emetophobia, First Meeting, Human Experimentation, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Incest, Intercrural Sex, Kidnapping, Multi, Oral Sex, Paralysis, Pure Pain and Suffering, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Harm, Torture, Vomit, baths, face fucking, slight amputation, suffocation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2019-10-26 01:13:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17736212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Voyaelm/pseuds/succculent_horror
Summary: The title's stupid but in this installment, Hallow/You get(s) dicked-down and/or murdered by 7 very handsome boys.





	1. Ren’s Turn

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting in a Google doc since October, so I figured I’d pretty it up and post it. It’s going to have all seven boy from both games (Rire, Sano, Strade, Lawrence, Cain, Ren, and Vincent).

Being a captive is the fucking worst. You never thought you’d think so nonchalantly about being kidnapped and forced to stay somewhere. But there’s a first time for everything.

The kid, early twenties, doesn’t fit any of the  kidnapping criteria. He’s tiny, and outgoing. Which has made for an interesting few days.

You’re sitting on the couch after finishing the dinner he made you. It was delicious, better than you’ve had in a while. So you let him know that.

“You're so nice, Hallow!”

“Do I get a reward?” You ask cheekily, not expecting an answer. If anything, you expect another shock.

He hums in thought, touching the remote against his lips. “You know what? Sure. Maybe it'll motivate you to stay nice.” He seems to enjoy your expression of puzzlement, smiling deviously.

Ren placidly kicks your legs apart to sit between your feet, looking up with wide, vulpine eyes. He looks good on his knees. You should keep that in mind for later, despite the fact that he's doing it now. It might be a fun time.

Clawed fingers reach up to undo your jeans. You politely lift your hips off the couch, watching as he slips them, along with your underwear, down to your calves.

He brings his hands up to the cushion, the remote to your collar clenched in a fist. It's a warning, obviously. He isn't going to just _let_ you leave. Maybe he's teasing you. Saying ‘Here’s your freedom! All you have to do it take it from me and run.’ You don't. You think you actually want to see what he does. Sanity be damned; you're curious.

His tail swishes behind him, dragging against the soft, white carpet. It leaves a bit of fur behind. It makes for a pretty contrast.

Ren’s rough tongue laves over you a few times and you start to shake. Sharp claws dig their way into your thighs, keeping them from moving. You feel the piercing scratch of them going down the sides and you jerk. Thankfully, he thinks that your buck from from his tongue and not his claws, so he actually wraps his hands around your thighs and pulls you closer to his face, to your utter surprise.

His tongue and lips feel _amazing_ against you. A moan resounds deep in your chest and you twist your hips.

You feel him purr quizzically, but contently. He starts working a little harder, getting a little more messy. By then, you're cumming, head thrown back against the couch, fingers squeezing his red hair. You stroke his ear idly while you come down from your high, panting like a dog. Luckily for you, he doesn't move his face away until you give him a distinct nudge.

Ren makes a move to stand up, leaning over you with a hand on the couch. He's probably lightheaded; you would be too if you had your face between his legs for 10 minutes.

You reach out to help steady him, fingers bracing his arm. Weirdly, you can't help but _want_  to help this poor creature. Sure, he's got you on a metaphorical leash, and in a literal collar, but him looking like that fills you with a need to protect that you've never felt before. He's just so _small_ and _fragile._

He looks up at you with hazy eyes and smiles. Maybe he thinks the same about you.

Both of you stay like that for a while, just staring at each other. Your fingers start to glide up and down his limb when you’re sure he's gotten his balance back. He bites his lip with his sharp canines, letting them pierce the weak skin easily, then reaches down for his jeans.

You're too spaced out to notice what's going on with Ren until you feel something hot and solid between your thighs. You jump.

“I need to.” His cock prods against your opening a bit harder; you instinctually tense. “Okay?”

You don't have a chance to confirm or deny  because he's already pushing in. The stretch of him _burns._ You're tight. You weren't expecting him to — Oh, what are you thinking, of course you were. The innocent act had to have been working for the guy for a while, but it's been dropped. He looks excited.

He knows that it hurts. He likes that it's hurting you.

You grit your teeth, steeling yourself against him as he settles fully inside you. Your eyes are closed tight with pain, but you manage to open them enough to steal a glance at Ren. His cheeks and neck sport a heavy, crimson blush and his eyes are almost crossing in pleasure.

“You're...You're so lucky.” He sighs to himself. He was loud enough to hear, sure, but you have the feeling that he's saying it for himself. He just seems so enamored. “I'm keeping control, even though it’s _so_ hard. I can see why he couldn't.” Who is he talking about?

“Thank me. Thank me for my control.” He says this a little louder, obviously expecting an answer.

You fear what will happen if you don't comply, so you do. “Thank you, Re-ahhhh!!!” You cut off his name with an unwarranted moan when he pushes in so deep you can feel it in your stomach.

He ruts into you like an animal, fittingly, jabbing himself over and over against your walls.

Aside from the pain, all you can feel is the stream of tears steadily falling from your eyes and the sudden warm, wet burst flooding your insides. Ren shudders and pulls out, panting wildly with his tail lashing happily behind him. You shiver.

You don't look down; you think you'll vomit if you do. You don't want to confirm your thought that you might be bleeding from his rough treatment.

You do look down at your thighs when he slips your underwear back over you, however. The claw marks from his possessive grappling have begun to swell slightly, with only the deeper punctures still red.

Ren moves away from you, but only to sit down on the couch beside you.

“Will you stay with me, Hallow?” He looks up to you. His eyes are filled with something. Looking into them doesn't scare you. It's hopeful. It’s infectious. “We could be-” He pauses, likely to look for a word. “Happy. Together.” He gives you a cute, lopsided smile and you give one back.

You're a bit worried by how easily your next sentences comes out of your mouth. “Sure. I'll stay with you, Ren. That sounds nice.” His face lights up and he wraps his arms around you like a vice, jumping to sit down on your lap. He places a heavy kiss on your lips.

You. You'll try it. Worst comes to worst, you grab the remote while he's asleep and leave. It wouldn't be hard. So, why not have a bit of fun, at least for a while?


	2. Vincent’s Turn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was shockingly easy to NOT write piss into this. Not my thing y’all sorry. But, this is still rather nasty. Hope ya enjoy nonetheless!

You're alone most of the time down here, so your mind tends to wander. You try to think about what it'd be like to not be here. You'd go out with your friends, have a few drinks, maybe do something productive. You'd blow off your morning classes because you’d be too hungover to care.

But, you're here. You wonder if your school has reported you missing yet. You wonder if the police has stopped by your house, by the little bars that line your street, and asked if you'd been seen. Maybe they stopped at the bar Vincent frequents. Maybe they asked him about you, and he feigned ignorance. Maybe you'll get out of here.

Probably not.

Vincent stands over your bruised body, smiling down at you. He’s wearing a pair of thick pants with a heavy belt. They ride low, just sitting atop his hips.You can see the trail of hair that grows then quickly disappears.

You have _some_  clothes on, you think. He spent a few minutes with a hunting blade shaving off your shirt, shorts and underwear. But, you’re fairly sure you still have a few scraps covering your body.

He kneels down between your legs and slips his belt from the loops. Your face falls into abject horror as you realize what he’s going to do with you. You try to kick him, lifting your leg and aiming for his lower stomach. Vincent’s too fast, grabbing your leg by the ankle and pushing it to the floor.

When Vincent starts to unzip his pants, you stare up at the ceiling, not wanting to actually see anything. He huffs jovially under his breath and you feel something solid against your entrance. You suck in lots of air and tighten up; Vincent sighs at that.

As he enters you, you scream. It feels like sandpaper and glass. Like his cock is slicing and grating your insides. Now, even though you’re sure that it’s impossible for his dick to be made of anything other than muscle, flesh, and blood, you still have doubts.

It’s just the unwillingness. You’re not relaxed, so it’s going to hurt. You’ve fucked people you couldn’t get relaxed for. It’s just like that!

Only it really fucking _isn’t._

By the time he works up a steady rhythm, you’re crying. It hurts. It hurts, and you’re terrified. Even so, he’s still attractive above you. You cringe away hard at that notion. He’s not a good person. In fact, he’s terrible. A nasty animal — and rapist — with a sadistic streak that stretches across the equator. And you’ve only known him for a day.

But, his build and demeanor are nearly everything you look for in a man. Fuck, you’re fucked.

He wants to do more than this; it’s something that you can just see in his eyes. He wants this to hurt. He _likes_ that he’s hurting you. Your body likes this too, enjoying the attention his cock is giving it.

The movement of his hips drag your back against the rough floor. You can feel the skin there tearing. It’s a grounding sensation. It hurts less than the things Vincent’s doing to you, so you try to focus on that, instead of the pressure building inside you.

You hurl screams through your thoughts at your body. _Do NOT let this turn you on Hallow. You’re in pain. It hurts. So bad. no no nO NO!_  But it doesn’t stop anything. Your body reacts the way in believes it should, with an orgasm and a moan. Your body may be swimming in endorphins and pleasure, but your mind is filled with disgust and embarrassment. You feel dirty.

He knows you didn’t enjoy that, but he smirks down at you anyways. You’re out of energy, not even having an ounce to turn your head away. “You came! Now, ain’t that sweet? My cock feels that good, huh?” You stay silent. He doesn’t pry.

He moans deep in his chest and cums inside you after a few more thrusts. You’re in too much pain — your orgasm has long since warn off — to do anything but take it. You mind is filled with despair. You feel like there is nothing worse he could do to you.

Vincent pulls out of you; and when he does, you feel liquid spill from you in too much of a quantity to only be cum.

You manage to pull yourself up enough to sit on your ass, staring at the most disgusting sight you think you’ve ever seen. You puke, tossing your head to the side so it doesn’t mingle with anything.

Between your legs a mess of blood sits, both light and dark, coating the cement. That’s… too much. You’re gonna die. _Fuck_  you’re gonna _die_. Your head feels light, and your thoughts flutter inappropriately. You can only think about how it’s looks like he fucked you with a dildo made of razor blades. You chuckle quietly, crazily. You aren’t in your right mind.

You wipe the vomit from your lips, feeling the puddle touch your outer thigh. Vincent’s eye shoots up at you, a demented smirk still plastered on his lips. His teeth are sharp, and his look is possessive. In any other situation, that’d be super sexy. Now, though, it makes you feel sick.

You, without even thinking, look down between his thighs, at his cock that still hangs heavy despite his release. It’s coated with your blood, thick globs falling from the head. You vomit again, in the same spot as before. It’s so _gross._

Vincent must see you looking because he reaches down to start stroking himself, covering his palm with your blood. He then reaches down to run his fingers over your sex, laughing when your hips buck away in sensitivity. He bears down on you; and you squeal in pain, which makes him laugh harder. Soon enough — thank God — he relieves his pressure, removing himself from your vicinity.

He pushes you against the wall with one arm, causing you to groan at the feeling of movement. It really fucking hurts. You wonder if you’re going to bleed out.

Your eyelids weigh heavy while Vincent busies himself on the other side of the room. The last thing you see before you pass out from pain and exhaustion is him walking over to you with a set of handcuffs and a blanket.

At some point during the night — you think it’s night — you wake up, but only slightly. Stuck in a half-asleep, half-awake state is odd, but comforting in a way. The severe anxiety you felt while fully conscious has dulled, and you aren’t mortally terrified. At least at this moment you aren’t.

You have a vague understand of what brought you to this state, and you believe it to be the hushed voices. You are unable to catch the whole conversation, but you do hear some of it.

“You want them gone?” Vincent's voice says somewhere out in the darkness. You're too tired to open your eyes.

“Yep. You've been spending too much time with them.” The other voice is mellow and calm, yet pent-up. It’s a odd voice, but it’s not unpleasant. Wait. You feel like you've heard it before. But, where?

“...like them.” He replies, so quietly that you can only catch the tail end of his sentence.

The other scoffs, like Vincent isn't understanding. “That's the point. I'm the only one you can keep. I'm the only one who can handle you.”

You fall back asleep, somehow, during their conversation. You couldn’t comprehend what they were talking about anyways. Being between states of consciousness is a trippy experience.

You wake up sometime later; you're able to open your eyes this time. There are both gone, which makes you sigh in slight relief. You still have your blanket; it’s still soaked through with dark blood.

Oh yeah,  _that_. Biting your lips, you look between your legs and sigh in relief when you don’t see blood spilling from you. You must be scabbing over by now, thankfully. You still can’t tell if the bleeding came from inside you, or if it was external. You believe the former more.

You tug on the cuffs that you vaguely remember Vincent putting on you. The pain slams into you like a truck, racking your whole body. Sleep is one of the best anesthetics; and that loopy feeling is gone, leaving you doubled over. You groan and twist your hips, but doing so doesn’t alleviate anything. Instead, it sends another pang shooting up your spine. You fall against the wall. _Ouch_.

Scanning the room, specifically the floor, for anything you could use to get out is fruitless. And you really don't want to yank your already raw arm from the cuffs. The idea of purposefully causing yourself more pain makes you shiver.

It's almost too much effort to keep your eyes open. You pass out seconds later.

You re-awaken to the turning of metal and twist your head around in time to see Vincent.

He looks...sad? For lack of a better word. The frown and furrowed brows sit awkwardly on his face, like he doesn't feel that emotion often. You're pretty sure that's the case, anyway. Maybe you're just used to his haughty demeanor.

You don't say anything to him, mainly out of fear. You're not sure what he'll do to you. Well, you do. You never want to experience _that_  again.

He walks over to and sits down on the table across the room. He doesn't look at you for awhile, staying silent. He does speak after a bit, but the words are not what you hoped to hear.

“I'm sorry, doll. But, my baby’s word is absolute. I can't keep ya.” Baby’s? Wait. If that other voice was who you thought it was. That guy from the bar is Vincent's...partner? God, you should have made sure. You should have checked. Damn your weakness for vulgar men with big muscles.

You guess that's it. There goes all your hope. You're not getting out of this. That _fucker_.

Tears make their way down to your mouth before you even realize that you're crying.

You're alone. No help is coming. And you're going to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’know, I really didn't like Vincent at first, but I recently finished his route (got his lil gif avatar and everything), and that changed. I love the werewolf man.


	3. Lawrence’s Turn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one’s a bit short, but I finally finished it!! Hope you enjoy 😉   
> EDIT 5/24: Formatting

You, as a child, have always had a high pain tolerance. You’d tear your knee opens, hit your head on tree branches, and get a new set of bruise every few days.

This was different. All of that pain was pain you controlled in some way, so this really _was_ different.

Lawrence was sweet, quiet. He loved plants, tea, and gardening. You were told that a man who gardens could never harm a soul.

 _They were wrong_ . _Someone like that could definitely hurt someone._

Case in point, your current scenario.

You just ran into this guy when you were out on a night walk. It was something out of a movie, at first. You apologized, and his face was flushed a cute red. Trying to go about your walk, you sidestep him. He reaches out and holds onto your arm with a surprising strength.

You remember him freaking out and punching you, and you remember waking up duct-taped to a dining chair.

At first, he’s nowhere to be seen. You whip your head around to get a bearing on your situation when he comes out from behind a wall.

Lawrence steps towards you. You shiver when he stops right in front of your face. The angle that you’re sitting at makes you need to look up to see his face; he takes a step back.

He takes out and holds up a small paring knife. It’s sharp; you think it could slice flesh with just a look. But it’s still only knife. It couldn’t possibly do that.

Lawrence presses the blade against the fleshy part of his forearm and applies pressure. He pulls the knife through his skin, letting you watch as a thick stream of blood pools and drips down his arm. You look on, awestruck, at the sight. He’s cutting himself. WHY? 

He shivers and sets the blade down. Blood settles off the weapon and spills onto the table. He locks eyes with you and smiles. “I’m human too, Hallow. This hurts. It hurts very bad.”

“Why?” You ask him, worried for his very being. The fact that he seems to possess self-destructive tendencies makes you more nervous. If he’s willing to hurt himself, what is he going to do to you? 

“I don’t want you to be afraid of me,” Lawrence says. “I want to show you that I’m the same.” 

You don’t think that there is _any_ way he could be the same as you. Blood may flow from his arm as it does from yours; but he doesn’t seem human. He presents himself in a way that negates his humanity. He gets his point across tersely, with no need for pauses or extra words. 

It’s odd — which is the only word you can think of.

It still strikes fear into your heart. He’s doing this… because he needs to prove something to you? His humanity? His sanity? Naturally, it did the exact opposite and now you’re terrifed if him.

So you do the only think you can think to do.

You scream.

You try to tell for help, for anyone that will listen. Key word: _try._

“Shut _up.”_ Lawrence doesn’t yell, but his words do exactly what they demanded. You immediately shut your mouth, scream breaking and dying in your throat.

 _Well, that was a really bad idea._ You look up at him, he looks mad. It isn’t the normal type of mad, either, but instead a visceral one. He’s mad in a completely different sense.

Lawrence walks away from you, taking a few steps until he reaches a small table with a unassuming cardboard box under it. He’s still within reach, so you try not to do anything stupid. You can’t see what he pulls out until he moves back towards you. 

It’s a roll of duct tape and a small, hand-length syringe filled with a pale blue liquid. You blanche.

“What are you doing!!!” You try to yell again, terrified of the needle and whatever is in it; but his hand slams down hard on your mouth before you can so much as raise it higher than normal. His eyes are solid and angry, resentment pooling in the crystalline irises.

“I’m going to try to cut out your tongue without you bleeding to death.” Your eyes widen. There’s no way. There just can’t be! You shake in your chair, trying to bang it against the floor. His hand squeezes the arm rest, stopping all of the rocking. He’s strong. You stop all movement, hoping that you can get back on his good side.

Lawrence reaches for the duct tape he has sitting on the table and tears off a piece without removing his hand over your mouth. Quickly, he lifts his hand and smacks the tape over your lips before you can think of opening your mouth. You lave over the tape, trying to weaken the hold; but it doesn’t work.

He walks behind you, and you hear him rummaging. You panic, so stricken with fear that you can’t move. You feel sick, warm tears fill your eyes before they spill down your face. They also don’t loosen the tape. No noise leaves you; no weak sobs or attempted screams for help. It’d be hopeless anyways. 

Lawrence peeks back into view, holding two blunt, scissor-like instruments in the other. He sits all of them next to the tape and the needle on the table. You can see them better: one is small, a pair of thinning shears no bigger than your forearm; and the other is large,  a set of hedge clippers that are bigger than your torso. Just looking makes you sick.

“You’re worried,” Lawrence states, “I don’t blame you. I’m not mad.” He arranges the items on the table, picking up the clippers and the shears. His eyes dart between them, probably trying to pick one. He settles, dropping the large clippers onto the floor. You feel your shoulders loosen, even though you _shouldn’t_ feel relaxed. “If I were here — in your situation — I’d be scared too. It’s human. It’s okay.”

Despite his sweet words, you don’t feel at ease. If anything, the creepy demeanor upsets you more. He would be scared too. _Then why is he doing this?_

He lays the shears down on the table and grabs the syringe. It look awkward in his hand, like he’s never held on before. You wouldn’t be surprised if that’s true.

“A friend gave this to me,” Lawrence smiles, speaking softly; “It numbs you completely. You won’t feel a thing. I don’t want to hurt you; I just want you to be quiet.” 

 _I can be quiet_ you think, eyes flickering. _Please don’t. Please._ You start crying again, and Lawrence frowns.

“Stop that.” You’re startled by his sudden mood change, looking at his eyes. They’re angry again, and that makes you stop the quiet sobs racking your body. “I’m being nice and offering you an option with no pain, but if you’re going to act like that…” He purposely leaves his sentence to trail off, which scares you so much. You try to calm down, taking deep breaths in through your nose. When you’ve settled enough, you shake your head.

Lawrence raises an eyebrow and you plead with your eyes. If… If this is really going to happen, you don’t want there to be any pain. He thinks for a moment, fiddling with the needle before kneeling to get level with your arm. You close your eyes in relief. Yeah, you really don’t want him to do this; but if it’s going to be painless, you’re not terribly afraid.

He inserts the long syringe into one of your veins and squeezes the liquid in. Immediately, you notice that you can’t feel your arm. The numbness crawls up your arm, digs into your chest, and falls to your legs. Lawrence smiles as he sees you relax.

“That’s not so bad.” He mutters, fingers stroking up your arm. You can’t feel it, but you can see it. It’s a light movement; the tips of Lawrence’s fingers are barely grazing you.

He’s following your gaze with a deep set passion, as if he’s intrigued by what you’re staring at. You aren’t looking at anything in particular; you’re are just trying to focus since your sense of touch is gone. You try to lift your arm, but find yourself unable. You’re completely numb.

“You’re wondering why I’m doing this, aren’t you?” Lawrence asks. You make an attempt to nod, but you’re not sure it really translates. “I. I don’t trust you to not talk. You’ve broken that part of me.”

His words make you want to curl into a shell and rot. While Lawrence may be a kidnapper and torturer, you feel for him after that statement. You shouldn’t — you know you shouldn’t — but you do.

He pulls the tape off your mouth. You try to move your lips and tongue in a last-ditch effort to scream. The injection must have paralyzed your vocal cords too because it doesn’t work. Lawrence tilts your head back and pulls your lips apart. Your tongue falls pilantly from your, now open, mouth.

The shears come into view, handles gripped tight by Lawrence’s strong hands. They look daunting. You try to shake but find yourself unable. _That shot. It’s a double-edged sword._ As he bring them to your mouth, you feel tears fall down your face. He smiles at you. 

The only thing you really feel is the pressure of the shears’ blade pinning your tongue before you hear them close. Your eyes close as a wet ‘splat’ fills your ears. You don’t look at first, not wanting to even open your eyes despite the lack of pain. Lawrence was telling the truth. It didn’t hurt.

“Oh, _no_.” Lawrence's voice is quiet, hand creeping up to cover his own mouth, as if he’s protecting himself. You don’t know why until you feel a deep wave of dizziness and nausea slam into you. Your eyes turn down to your chest with abject horror. There is a thick coating of blood, deep and red, soaking into your shirt and pants.

You panic, arms and legs flailing as much as they can with the binding. You still can’t feel a thing.

The world feels colder than it's ever been; an unwelcoming, frozen wasteland. You feel your eyes go glassy and find yourself reaching out for a light that isn’t really there. The light is warm, and you’re so cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was thinking about adding an ‘after bit’ to this. Like after Hallow dies, having Law jack off to their corpse or something... lemme know if that’d be something you’d wanna see  
> —  
> Oh and lemme know if there are any spelling/grammatical errors!


	4. Cain’s Turn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I was gonna post Strade, but I finished his (and Sano’s first) and I kinda wanted all the BTD:2 boys together so Cain time
> 
> This one is relatively tame, but I’ll make Strade and Rire’s *super* gorey to make up for it! 
> 
> also im so sorry this took soooooo long i fell of the wagon for a while, but im back!!!

He’s so handsome that it should be a crime. Blonde hair and blue eyes that pierce your very soul. His soft fingers work at the keys and you fantasize about what they would feel like on your skin.

He comes down off the stage after the song is over, to the applause of the few patrons that are scattered about. You clap too, impressed with his playing. He eyes you and walks over.  

Words run through your head at a mile a minute, trying to figure out what to say to this distinguished man. Luckily for you, he makes the first move.

“I haven't seen you around here before.”

“I- yeah.” You scratch the back of your head. Jeez, have you forgotten how to talk to people, Hallow? “Thought I'd try something new.”

“That's all and well.” He flashes a bright smile.

“My name is Cain. It's a pleasure to meet you.” He holds his hand out to yours, asking for a handshake. Seems a bit formal, but then again, taking a look at where you are, it really isn't. You take his hand. “And yours, lovely?” 

“It's Hallow.” Cain makes a noise of surprise. “What? My name special or something?”

He looks up, then shakes his head. “No. It's _unique_ … and very pretty, but nothing other than that.” Your instincts tell you he's lying, but you still blush slightly, offering up your thanks.

He takes a seat in front of you and he strikes up a simple conversation.

You two chat for a while before Cain leans to check his watch.

“I should probably be getting home.” He looks to the door and moves out of his chair. “It was nice to meet you, Hallow. Hopefully, our paths will cross again.” Cain leans down and lays a kiss on your hand, then leaves.

It takes you a minute or two to get up and start making your own way home. The entire way you daydream about Cain. Such a  _ gentleman _ ; you never see that nowadays. 

* * *

You wake up in an unfamiliar room, the entirety of which is covered in red and bathed in orange light. Where  _ are _ you? 

You look around frantically, trying to find some clue as to where you could be. Maybe you'll get lucky and find your phone. 

You don't. But, you do see a crisp note on the table next to you that reads ‘Come to the living room, Hallow.’ in blue ink. Cain?

Did he take you to his house last night? No, no that's impossible. You went home yourself last night. You remember sleeping in your own bed.

You need answers, and those answers lay with Cain, who is probably in the living room. So you get up and you walk out.

He's there, standing by the table in the main room, sure enough. You feel a little of the weight on your shoulders dissipate at the sight of him. Sure, it's weird that he took you to his house, but you can still leave, so it's okay.

Cain looks over, probably hearing your footsteps, and smiles brightly. “Good morning, Hallow. Did you sleep well?”

You answer his question with a quiet ‘yeah’, then remember why you came out here. Answers.

“Why am I here? Did you follow me home?!” You’re worried and creeped out, and that shows in your voice. Yeah, he’s hot and all. You would have banged him if he offered, but now you're weirded out by him. 

He chuckles warmly, looking down to you. “I did. I found where you lived and brought you here. You… interested me. Not many do that anymore.”

“I talked to you for ten minutes.” You say. Something’s off. You begin to feel like the world is falling around you. Looking up at Cain gives you no answers, he only raises a brow as you nearly fall to your knees. “Wha-”

Cain grins, then something freaky happens. It looks like he's surrounded by static, fluctuating between two worlds. You catch glimpse of a red-haired figure with yellow eyes. And, soon enough, that's who’s standing in Cain’s place. “Oh, Hallow. Are you alright, darling?”

It sounds just like him. Is this real? Is this him? “Cain?” You ask, and he huffs.

“What?” He looks at you menacingly. You try hard not to shrink in your spot, but you don't think you're successful. “Surprised? Confused? It's okay; I would be too.” 

You want to ask what he is. But, that'd be kinda rude, wouldn't it. _Actually_ , fuck it. You deserve to know; screw being polite.

“What are you?” 

“Oh, silly child.” His gaze bores into you while the sclera of his eyes shifts from white to black, then back to white. “That isn't important. There are two things you should know about me: One, I am not human; and two, I could end you with a snap of my fingers, so I'd be good.”

Suddenly, a set of large, black angel wings sprout out from his back. They flap lightly once, stretching like they aren't used to being out. They do a damn good job of proving the non-human thing — as if his eyes hadn't done _that_  already.

“Wings.” You mutter, awestruck. You've never seen anything like it. 

“Yes, darling. I have wings.” He talks to you like a child. You're damn well near pouting like one.

“They’re pretty.”  You...really need to get your priorities straight. You've been kidnapped, and you do not need to be an idiot right now. But, they are. Extremely.

“Thank you.” You can tell he doesn't mean it. He walks over to the couch and sits on it. You look around a little bit decide you should leave him be. You... aren't going to be able to get out of here, are you? You don’t want to try.

You turn, ready to head back into his room and go to back sleep; but you end up in the bathroom. Wrong turn, you guess.

It’s beautiful. You admire the large tub near the back wall, the windows illuminating it from the back, the gold accents contrasting with the white of the room. It looks so different than the rest of Cain’s house. You examine in reverence for a while until you hear footsteps and quickly go back to the bedroom. 

Or that was your plan. 

Because when you open the door to leave, your face collides with Cain's upper torso. You let out a shocked ‘ah!’ which is muffled by his shirt before you pull back and stare at him. “I was just leaving.” You say.

“I can see that.” He looks over you at the bathroom behind you and grins. He steps out of the way, holding an arm out for you, motioning you to walk pass. 

You scoff and shake your head playfully. It's a little funny that he's trying to be the gentleman he was at the bar even after he threatened you. Wait, why do you find that funny? That's fucked.

You leave the bathroom, turning back around when you are almost to Cain’s bedroom. There is no sign of Cain and the door is still open. Jeez, non-humans are freaky.

You immediately fall onto the large bed. It's comfortable. More comfortable than yours at home. 

You’re sure you could explore, that he wouldn't be angry, but you're too tired to even talk to him anymore, let alone argue. 

You slip under the crispy, clean, red sheets and drift off. You don’t have the time to think about the fact that you’re falling asleep in the bed of a man that threatened you.

When you wake up, the sun has almost gone completely down. You take a minute to yourself for looking out the large window in Cain’s bedroom. The sky is a mix of vibrant reds, yellows, pinks and mottled blues and purples. It's one of the most beautiful sights you've ever seen. Even more so than the sunrises you'd get up at dawn to watch with your dad were. 

You feel gross, as you usually do after sleeping. You could really go for a bath in that fancy tub you saw earlier. Actually, yup, that's a good idea.

Opening the door to the bedroom, you peek out into the hallway and, thankfully, don’t see Cain. You slip into the door beside his room, into the bathroom. It’s still as pretty as you remember; you feel unworthy to even be in here. 

But, when you undress and get into the warm water you starting to draw the second you closed the door, Cain is suddenly in front of you. In the water. With a glass full of a dark liquid. 

You jump back, smashing your back against the rim of the tub, which sends a sharp pain through your body.  _ Fuck that hurt.  _

“There’s no reason to run. I don’t plan on hurting you.” You don’t believe him, but his words settle you enough, so you move away from the edge. 

You bring a hand to your hair and pull it through the strands; they're damp from the humidity. Your eyes drift back to his glass.

“What are you drinking?”

“Oh, this?” He swirls the glass around and takes a sip. “Wine. With a bit of a twist.”

“Wine with a- Demon wine? Wait are you even a demon?” You ask incredulously, not being able to believe something like that exists. He nods curtly. You take it that his answer for for the wine, not for him. “And, how is it different than human wine?” 

Cain chuckles, “Why don't you try some for yourself? See its effects firsthand.” He holds his glass out to you from the lip of the tub. 

“Tell me what it's going to do to me first.” You know better than to accept drinks from people like him, and why would you anyways? It's literally ‘Demon Wine.’

“You probably shouldn't drink it.” He smirks, taking another sip. He offered some to you,  _ knowing _ it would hurt you. Bastard. You close your eyes and toss you head in annoyance. 

The two of you are silent for a few minutes, then it starts to change. You can’t pinpoint it immediately; but when it starts to feel heavy around you and fade into red, you yelp. Is that… blood? You jump onto the spacious rim of the tub, removing your body from it. It sticks to your skin. It’s blood. 

“What the  _ fuck _ ?” You say to yourself but direct your eyes to Cain. It  _ had _ to be him. He tips his wine glass into the tub, letting you watch as the dribbles from the glass start to turn the blood back to water. He’s like a fucked-up Jesus. 

His face is dripping with conceit. He doesn't reply to you, but instead moves towards the door. You stare at the liquid, watching it revert to regular water. 

His walk to the door is so smooth, you realize you probably look very silly sitting on the tub with your knees up to your chest. So, you move down to the floor, now only leaning on the tub.

You also can't help but notice that his ass looks  _ amazing _ .

“You're a bit more fun than I thought.” He looks over his shoulder at you. “Keep it up. You’ll live longer.”

You're actually pouting when he shuts the door behind himself. You've even got the crossed arms. Though, you don't know why you aren't more scared of this. You were  _ naked _ in front of that psycho.

It takes a while to get out of your own head —nothing came from that thought session; you're probably just mental — and when you do, you step over to the rack of soft, white towels

You grab one, wrapping it around you and tucking it in. You have shame, thank you. You look at yourself in the large mirror above the sink. You prod at your features: your mouth, your eyes, your nose, your cheeks, before walking into Cain's room.

Where you are greeted by a  _ sight _ .

He’s laying flat on his bed, fully dry, fully  _ naked.  _ His cock looks weighty in his first, and looks utterly  _ delicious  _ when he stokes it. 

You can feel your face go red. 

“Care to help?” Cain asks with a raised brow. You step closer to the bed and take a seat on the edge, just next to his thighs. 

“Hell yeah.” He huffs out a laugh. To you, it sounds endearing and not mocking. Like he's charmed by your lack of couth. You honestly don't care either way; you _just_ want to suck his dick.

When you shift into a better position to start, he viciously grabs the sides of your face and pulls you down onto him. His cock slams your gag reflex; and you panic, trying to push him off. He holds you there. Fuck it, he's stronger than he looks.

You steel yourself, doing your absolute best to not vomit. Your eyes screw shut as he brings himself out of your mouth. He pushes in again and this time, you're relaxed. You know that's not all of him — you don't need to look — because you're very aware of the limits of your mouth. You _cannot_ take  _that_  much. But, damn, if Cain isn't trying to break you.

He thrusts into your throat for a while before  holding you down and letting a deep moan that he tries to conceal about halfway through. You're proud of yourself for getting him to make noise. You wish he'd move you, though. But he just keeps holding you against him, occasionally fucking up into your throat. You feel like gagging, but it’s actually pretty hot.

You hum when he relaxes his hold on your hair, feeling the bitter, yet intoxicating liquid against your tongue. Cain removes his hands from your hair, and you release him from your mouth with a swallow. 

“I'm impressed.” His thin fingers move through your hair.

You appreciate the praise, even if it's nothing you haven't heard before. Many a fling ended with rumors about how good you were at giving head.

You move up to lie against his chest, smiling as his fingers tug playfully.

You want to stay. You want to live among this beautiful sunset, this beautiful room, this beautiful man. Sure, it's probably not the partner your mom wanted for you, but damn it, you're happy.

It's nice. Right here. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a tumblr now for all my BTD stuff! I’ll be linking my fics there and a bit of art that I’ve done! succculenthorror.tumblr.com 
> 
> check that out and feel free to request in my asks! those have priority! 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Let me know what you thought of it!


	5. Sano’s Turn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now that all of the BTD2 boys are done, it is now time for the og trio! im starting with Sano’s only because i finished his first and i wanted to post!

Alcohol has always gotten you into trouble. You’ve been arrested, harassed, and you’ve woken up in more weird places than you can count. 

A table in a sterile, cement room surprisingly isn’t the weirdest. 

You try to rub the sleep from your eyes, only to find that you can’t. Looking down, you see that all of your limbs — including your neck — are strapped down. 

All you really remember from last night is Sano. Tall, reserved, and strikingly pretty. He ended up leaving before you could buy him a drink. 

Distraught, you got up from the bar, only to bump into someone. 

You thought nothing of the handsome man named Akira who took you to his place. You were slammed, too drunk to think for your safety. And you could only imagine what he was like in bed. 

Turns out, that was a mistake. Apparently, he and Sano are brothers. Twins. You can’t believe you didn’t see the similarity at the time. 

Speaking of Sano, he walks into the room a few seconds later. He’s now wearing a thin lab coat and glasses. 

“How are you feeling, Hallow?” Sano asks, putting on a pair of latex gloves. 

“My head feels like it’s in a vice.” 

“You probably have a hangover. I’ll set you up with fluids soon. Do you usually drink so  _ much _ by  _ yourself _ ?” 

Sano’s voice is clinically calm. He sounds exactly like the doctors you’ve frequented since you moved out here. It makes you lower your guard.

Even though you’re currently strapped to an exam table by him, Sano  _ is  _ medically trained. He could do something bad to you.

And besides, you should always do what your doctor says. And never lie. So you don't. 

“I maaaay have a bit of a drinking problem, yeah.” He seems intrigued, tapping his pen against his clipboard. 

“How many drinks do you have in an average week?”

“Errr. 9? 10? I drink more on days that I don't have class.” 

He asks where you go to class and you answer him truthfully. You're surprised that you actually answered that; he had no reason knowing that. He didn't ask what building or what major, so you should be alright.

His questions stop, giving him a reason to walk over to a medical fridge and pulls out a bag of saline. He also opens a drawer and removes a butterfly needle.

Setting up the drip is smooth. You watch Sano with an odd curiosity.  _ How often does he do this?  _

Sano slips the needle into your wrist and hooks you up to a small bag. Within minutes, the saline drains and your headache goes away.  

While you’re focused on the steady drip of the IV, Sano leans over you. He draws on your exposed skin with a dark marker. You can move your head to see what he's doing, but only a little.

The circles around your knees and ankles and the lines connecting them look like the structure that makes up a ball-jointed doll. You actually really like the aesthetic, but say nothing as you watch on.

Soon, your legs are done; and Sano moves up to your arms. He sees you watching; instead of talking, he just continues with soft smile. He looks happy.

He reaches over to the table beside you and pulls out a small syringe filled with a clear liquid. You panic slightly, tugging up on the leather restraints. He shushes you, fingers patting your thigh. “It's only a sleep aid, nothing more.” That calms you more than you'd care to admit.

Sano takes a seat at his desk and glides a pencil across a smattering of papers that you can't read from where you are. He's only been working for a few minutes when Akira suddenly appears in the doorway. You're so tired that you can't find it in yourself to be bothered that he's here. Him and Sano are brothers, why wouldn't he be?

He catches your eye and snorts in laughter, as if he's amused with your capture. He's not bothered by his brother's activities. After that, he pays no attention to your bound form, instead putting it all on Sano.

“Hey,” he says. Sano quickly — almost too quickly — turns away from his work. “I take it you're busy?” 

“N-no, not at all.” His voice waves, probably from Akira's sudden appearance. It shocked you too. “Just finishing up. What did you need, Akira?” 

Akira leans against frame a bit more, letting it support most his weight while he stares at Sano. “Need you to look at something.” He motions out the door with his head.

“Look at something?” Sano asks.

“Yeah, it's real important.” Akira smirks and Sano's face lights up red. “Need your help.” 

Sano stands up at his desk, hands pressed against the papers. His eyes meet yours and Akira walks in a bit farther, laying an open palm on Sano's shoulder. “You can leave your doll here for a while, can't you?” His lips move closer to Sano's ear and speaks deeply and quietly. “C'mon.” 

“Yes.” Then Akira whisks Sano out of the room and out of sight. You don't think about the ‘something’ Akira needs to show Sano. You don't want to think about it.

The injection you received earlier is making  you more and more drowsy. You pass out.

When you wake up, Sano’s standing next to his desk. 

His hair is mussed; his fingers are trying to flatten it down presentably. He doesn't notice you're awake until he's straightening his lab coat and pushing up his glasses.

“Oh, I,” Sano stutters. “Good morning, Hallow.”

“Good...morning? I slept all night?”

“It would appear so, yes.” He starts buttoning his coat and sits on his desk chair when he's done. 

You try not to think about the blush that still sits high on his cheekbones and runs across his scar. 

Sano leaves you be for a while, deciding to scribble what appears to be equations into a small notebook. You stare at his steady hand dragging the pen because there isn’t anything else to do. 

You realize that he is always taking notes and writing. A valuable skill for a med student. You’re friends with a few med students, though Sano seems a bit older than them. Maybe he’s going for a surgeon license?

After what seems like an eon, he stands up and leaves the room. Immediately, you start tugging on the leather restraints holding you to the table.

You almost have one of your arms free before you hear a steady tapping from the entrance to the room. You whip your head around and see Akira standing there with a smirk.

His neck is smattered with hickies, and he’s missing the jacket he had on at the bar. And when he whisked Sano away for  _ God knows what.  _

He’s holding a baseball bat in his fist, which you figure was what was causing the tapping. The dark stains make you freeze, fearful that he may hit you with it.

He peers around, notices Sano’s absence, then leaves you as you were. All without a word or a solid look at you. A pit of dread settles in your stomach. You never really  _ expected _ him to help; but now that you know that he  _ isn’t _ , you’re scared. 

Still, you don’t try to get away anymore. Hopelessness fills your body and makes your limbs heavy. Your hands settles back into the loop, now raw from the attempt. 

You sit in silence for what feels like an hour before Sano comes back in. He doesn’t look at you or speak to you, instead he digs through a white cabinet off to the side of the room.

He produces a new syringe, this one long and filled with a blue liquid. That… isn’t the sleep drug. You struggle against your bindings.  _ What is that?! _

You must’ve said that out loud because Sano replies, “An anesthetic. A rather powerful one at that. It should paralyze your muscles for a few hours, but I’m still adjusting the formula.” He sets the needle against your wrist, and you flinch. “This will be a perfect time to test.”

Trying to thrash is futile as Sano grips your elbow with a surprising amount of force. There is a slight burning sensation from his skin, but you think little of it. 

Sano’s treating you like a lab rat. A medical guinea pig. You’re inconsequential, a tiny smear on a giant window pane. The long needle finding its way into one of your veins is physical proof of that. 

Thankfully, you can’t feel the drug it crawl its way through you. It takes a few seconds to kick in; but when it does, the numbness falls over your entire body like a blanket — minus the safety and comfort.

You’ve been under for surgery, but this doesn’t feel like that. It feels more  _ scary _ . More like sensory deprivation.

You try to breathe, noticing that it takes a considerable amount of effort. More that you think you can handle. Your eyes focus on Sano, while you try your damndest to inhale and exhale.

“How does it feel? Is anything wrong?” Sano’s eyes light up behind his glasses, eager for feedback. You try to tell him you can’t speak, or breathe.

“C-ca-” That’s all you can force out before losing all ability to move your mouth...and lungs. You can see your arms pressed down to the table. They don’t move when you tell your brain to move them. 

“Oh, my. Looks like I’ll need to adjust my ratios. And dull down the power so the subject can still breathe.” Sano reaches out for the clipboard beside him while you gasp fruitless for oxygen.

You only hear a pen scratching at paper before you die. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re curious, that drug is the same one I used in Law’s lil story! The one Sano used is a stronger prototype and was weaker before he gave it to Lawrence.  
> ——  
> Check me out on tumblr and feel free to request!  
> succculenthorror.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know who you wanna see hurt Hallow next? ;)


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